Saga of the Man Called True: Third Moon
Saga of the Man Called True
Third Moon: The City's Parts
As the moon's light shines again, so we tell our stories. Where we left off, we shall begin anew.
In the depths of the city, the boy found himself completely lost. He had heard all the stories, yes, but he had never truly realized what they meant. He wandered street to street to street, never knowing where to go, moving where his intuition took him, wandering blind.
A simple glance made it clear how different he was from the people around him. They all wore shining clothes of silver and gold, of purples and blues, of other colors and fabrics that the boy did not even have words for. He, meanwhile, walked among them in travel-worn canvas, carrying a battered and bloodstained walking stick. No one around him looked dirty, or hungry, or tired, and he was all three of these things.
Soon the boy found a stand, out of which a man gave out bowls of what appeared to be hot meat. He wondered how to get some of it, since he knew nothing of the city's customs (he had heard all the stories, yes, but the little facts were missing from them).
Then he saw one of the city-dwellers set down a small piece of folded paper before taking a bowl. The next set down a carved stone, and the next a dried flower. The boy felt better now - within the city, it seemed, they dealt through trade, just as they did outside the city. So he took the pouch he had used to hold his rations during his journey, set it on the stand, and took a bowl.
As the boy walked away, he found himself surprised - the bowl was made of paper, not the wood or rock it would be outside the city, and the meat floated in liquid. They'd provided a spoon, and so the boy used it, eating as slowly as he could force himself. With his hunger assuaged, he wondered what he should do next.
"Outsider," a voice said from above him.
The boy looked up, and saw no one. He narrowed his eyes, soon seeing a thin slot in a wall above his head.
"Outsider," the voice said again. "Come in." And a door opened in front of the boy.
Despite his natural wariness, the boy knew he had few options. He adjusted his walking stick and headed inside.
The room was lit by three small lights along the upper wall, with a dim light coming from the floor. Two chairs flanked the door, which closed behind the boy, and another door sat on the other side.
The voice spoke from overhead. "You've come a long way, haven't you? I take an interest in anything from outside this city."
"Why?" the boy asked, the first word he'd spoken since he had left his parents.
"Because you represent a change from the scum in this city. Everyone here is so... clean. So artificial. So poised and timed you'd think it was a goddamn conspiracy. But I doubt you'd understand." The door opened. "Please, come in. I will prepare a few things for you."
Even more concerned, the boy looked to the door he had taken in, but it was still shut. Now without any options, he walked into the other door, which shut behind him. The floor moved, and he braced himself, until he felt it going upwards.
Fear rushed through the boy, and he clung to the walking stick, even as the floor moved faster and faster... and then it stopped, and he made himself relax as the door opened again. He walked outside, and saw the sky.
He glanced down out the clear wall, and saw the ground far below. He looked up, and saw the sky far above, and all that it entailed. The boy felt another rush of fear, but forced it down, looking around the room.
Beside the boy, there was a tub of steaming water, along with a bar of slippery stuff (soap, the boy realized). Laid out next to it was a white shirt and pants, of much softer fabric than his canvas. Without a word, he stripped and sank into the water, letting his weariness leave him in one slow, luxurious wave. His entire body ached; he hadn't realized just how much pain he felt.
The voice spoke again. "I wish to make you a deal, Outsider. You will tell me of your travels, and of what the world is like. In return, I will feed you, and clothe you, and give you useful work. And I will give you a great gift... but for this I must ask a trade."
"What trade?" the boy replied.
"I want your walking stick."
Suspicion erupted in the boy's soul. "Why?"
"I want it for the story it tells. The marks of land and sky, the blood and sweat from your palms, the erosion from the wind and rain... All of it tells me more than you could ever say with words."
"And what will I get in return?"
In answer, a silent woman walked up to the tub, bearing a sword. It was beautiful, far more a work of art than a weapon, yet still clearly capable of killing a man with but a single thought and a twitch of muscle. She set it beside him and left.
"This," the voice said. "It is called Never-Stained, for no matter how many lives it takes, blood never stays on the blade. And we'll see about fixing the gun in your clothes, too. Do we have a deal, Outsider?"
The boy thought. He thought, and thought, and went on thinking. Finally, realizing that the deal was the only way that he could stay in the city - and he had devoted his life to reaching the city - he nodded, speaking one word: "Yes."
"Very good. What is your name?"
After a moment, the boy decided not to give the voice the name his parents had told him. "Outsider."
"If you say so."
The boy - now Outsider - left the tub, then, drying himself and dressing in the white clothes. The silent woman returned, leading him to a soft bed. He fell into it, and slept for three days without rising. When he did rise, he learned just what that useful work was.
There are many more tales to tell, but the moon's light is waning. I shall meet you again when the moon shines anew.
Third Moon: The City's Parts
As the moon's light shines again, so we tell our stories. Where we left off, we shall begin anew.
In the depths of the city, the boy found himself completely lost. He had heard all the stories, yes, but he had never truly realized what they meant. He wandered street to street to street, never knowing where to go, moving where his intuition took him, wandering blind.
A simple glance made it clear how different he was from the people around him. They all wore shining clothes of silver and gold, of purples and blues, of other colors and fabrics that the boy did not even have words for. He, meanwhile, walked among them in travel-worn canvas, carrying a battered and bloodstained walking stick. No one around him looked dirty, or hungry, or tired, and he was all three of these things.
Soon the boy found a stand, out of which a man gave out bowls of what appeared to be hot meat. He wondered how to get some of it, since he knew nothing of the city's customs (he had heard all the stories, yes, but the little facts were missing from them).
Then he saw one of the city-dwellers set down a small piece of folded paper before taking a bowl. The next set down a carved stone, and the next a dried flower. The boy felt better now - within the city, it seemed, they dealt through trade, just as they did outside the city. So he took the pouch he had used to hold his rations during his journey, set it on the stand, and took a bowl.
As the boy walked away, he found himself surprised - the bowl was made of paper, not the wood or rock it would be outside the city, and the meat floated in liquid. They'd provided a spoon, and so the boy used it, eating as slowly as he could force himself. With his hunger assuaged, he wondered what he should do next.
"Outsider," a voice said from above him.
The boy looked up, and saw no one. He narrowed his eyes, soon seeing a thin slot in a wall above his head.
"Outsider," the voice said again. "Come in." And a door opened in front of the boy.
Despite his natural wariness, the boy knew he had few options. He adjusted his walking stick and headed inside.
The room was lit by three small lights along the upper wall, with a dim light coming from the floor. Two chairs flanked the door, which closed behind the boy, and another door sat on the other side.
The voice spoke from overhead. "You've come a long way, haven't you? I take an interest in anything from outside this city."
"Why?" the boy asked, the first word he'd spoken since he had left his parents.
"Because you represent a change from the scum in this city. Everyone here is so... clean. So artificial. So poised and timed you'd think it was a goddamn conspiracy. But I doubt you'd understand." The door opened. "Please, come in. I will prepare a few things for you."
Even more concerned, the boy looked to the door he had taken in, but it was still shut. Now without any options, he walked into the other door, which shut behind him. The floor moved, and he braced himself, until he felt it going upwards.
Fear rushed through the boy, and he clung to the walking stick, even as the floor moved faster and faster... and then it stopped, and he made himself relax as the door opened again. He walked outside, and saw the sky.
He glanced down out the clear wall, and saw the ground far below. He looked up, and saw the sky far above, and all that it entailed. The boy felt another rush of fear, but forced it down, looking around the room.
Beside the boy, there was a tub of steaming water, along with a bar of slippery stuff (soap, the boy realized). Laid out next to it was a white shirt and pants, of much softer fabric than his canvas. Without a word, he stripped and sank into the water, letting his weariness leave him in one slow, luxurious wave. His entire body ached; he hadn't realized just how much pain he felt.
The voice spoke again. "I wish to make you a deal, Outsider. You will tell me of your travels, and of what the world is like. In return, I will feed you, and clothe you, and give you useful work. And I will give you a great gift... but for this I must ask a trade."
"What trade?" the boy replied.
"I want your walking stick."
Suspicion erupted in the boy's soul. "Why?"
"I want it for the story it tells. The marks of land and sky, the blood and sweat from your palms, the erosion from the wind and rain... All of it tells me more than you could ever say with words."
"And what will I get in return?"
In answer, a silent woman walked up to the tub, bearing a sword. It was beautiful, far more a work of art than a weapon, yet still clearly capable of killing a man with but a single thought and a twitch of muscle. She set it beside him and left.
"This," the voice said. "It is called Never-Stained, for no matter how many lives it takes, blood never stays on the blade. And we'll see about fixing the gun in your clothes, too. Do we have a deal, Outsider?"
The boy thought. He thought, and thought, and went on thinking. Finally, realizing that the deal was the only way that he could stay in the city - and he had devoted his life to reaching the city - he nodded, speaking one word: "Yes."
"Very good. What is your name?"
After a moment, the boy decided not to give the voice the name his parents had told him. "Outsider."
"If you say so."
The boy - now Outsider - left the tub, then, drying himself and dressing in the white clothes. The silent woman returned, leading him to a soft bed. He fell into it, and slept for three days without rising. When he did rise, he learned just what that useful work was.
There are many more tales to tell, but the moon's light is waning. I shall meet you again when the moon shines anew.